


Where the Birds Never Sing

by anaraine



Category: Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters (2013)
Genre: F/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 20:05:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11905245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anaraine/pseuds/anaraine
Summary: They don't hunt at night for a reason, but Gretel isn't abandoning her brother to a witch no matter what fucking time it is.





	Where the Birds Never Sing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jungle_ride](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jungle_ride/gifts).



Her little brother is screaming. _Hansel_ is screaming, and Gretel can't do a damn thing except crawl further on her stomach, keeping her head low to the ground. This is not her preferred method of approach, but a frontal assault even during the day hadn't done shit but get them in trouble. This witch is smarter than others they've hunted. Gretel can't afford to be seen until she's right on top of her.

The leaves underneath her are slick and wet; the scent of their rot is thick and cloying. She has to keep fighting back the urge to gag what with how close her nose is to the ground, but she's already moving as fast as she dares.

Hansel's scream cuts off. Gretel imagines she can hear the harsh pant of his breath and see the angry glitter of his eyes as he spits into the witch's face. It's a better picture than the alternative, but she's unhappy with it all the same. When his screaming starts up again a second later, there's a guilty squirm of relief in her stomach. Better hurt than dead.

She eels her way closer to the witch's house, favoring her left arm with a grimace of distaste. She doesn't think her arm is broken, but it's going to be next to useless in a fight. It simply hurts too much to brace any of her weapons with it, so she can't trust in its normal strength. It only solidifies her plan to come at this witch sideways. Intelligent witches are the fucking worst.

"Where is your sister?" a voice croaks, a dry, rasping sort of sound that raises the hair on the back of Gretel's neck.

"Rot in hell," comes Hansel's slurred reply.

It lights a fire of anger low in her stomach. That's _her_ brother. No one gets to do that to her brother. _No one_.

The witch hasn't found the time to repair the broken wall of her house. Probably too fucking busy trying to torture answers out of Hansel. Part of the thatching has drooped into the open space, but it still leaves Gretel with a perfect view of the witch's back.

Gretel moves. She raises her revolver and aims for that damn witch's head. The first bullet strikes true, but that's unfortunately not enough to kill her. The second goes in her throat with a satisfying gurgle and spray of dark blood. Bullets three through seven form a line down her body, which jolts with every hit, and causes her to take jerky steps away from Hansel who is on the ground and _hurting_.

When the gun clicks empty, Gretel throws it to the ground and runs. It's safer to hunt witches with long distance weapons, but they often get requests to bring back heads as proof of death. Gretel never goes anywhere without something sharp, just in case.

The short sword she brings to bear will do just fine.

With a high chittering noise, the witch shakes off her disorientation only to catch Gretel's sword with her neck. Gretel doesn't have the strength at the moment to make it a clean cut, but she's not in the mood for clean.

Gretel heaves the witch up and bends backward, smashing her head into the ground with an inarticulate scream. While the witch howls and claws at the floor, Gretel picks up her sword again and starts hacking. She's inelegant and messy, and these clothes are _definitely_ going to be a pain to clean, but she gets the job done.

When the witch's head rolls free across the ground, Gretel feels nothing but vicious satisfaction. She waits a long moment to make sure the witch is dead, that there are no last-minute resurrections or curses she needs to watch out for, and then stumbles back to her brother.

"Gretel," Hansel breathes, and everything he feels is wrapped within the syllables of her name. Relief. Gratitude. Awe. Love.

Gretel drops to her knees in front of him and reaches out with unsteady hands, holding his face between her palms and pressing her forehead against his. He slumps a little in his bonds, tilting his head to press back into her touch, and his breath is rank but he's _alive_. He could smell like shit for all Gretel cares.

"I'm fine," Hansel whispers, and leans up to press a dry kiss to her chin. "I'm fine, I'm fine."

"Liar," Gretel whispers back, closing her eyes and feeling the pulse of his blood beneath her fingertips.

She pulls back reluctantly, but they've already spent too much time dithering. They need to get back to the town. They don't hunt at night for a reason, but she wasn't going to leave her brother in a witch's clutches.

Gretel yanks a knife free from her boot and begins to saw at the ropes holding him bound. They've rubbed a circle of raw skin around his wrists, and given the filth he's been laying in, she wouldn't be surprised if they were infected. Damn. They're going to have to hire a healer in this fucking shithole.

When his hands are free, Hansel takes the knife from her and starts in on his ankles. He has better leverage than her; he finishes much more quickly than she could have managed. They take the time to gather the weapons they can see, but they're not going to go hunting for the rest of them in the dark. This witch is dead, but she was smart. She might have minions.

The look Hansel gives her head makes Gretel want to kill her all over again, but they don't have that kind of time. They also need to keep it somewhat recognizable if they want to get paid.

They stumble into town with their breath hissing through clenched teeth, leaning on each other and moving as quickly as they're able. Night has fallen completely, but there are still houses lit by candlelight. It's not too late to call on the mayor and his coward of a fucking sheriff.

Hansel slams the witch's head down on the sheriff's desk with a nasty smile, and Gretel watches as he scrambles back and runs to find the mayor. Mayor Schulze has a slightly stronger constitution, as he only loses the color in his face when he catches sight the severed head. He doesn't try to stiff them, which is one small relief on this shitty night. She would've fought for it, but it's nice not to have to expend the effort.

The mayor sends a runner on ahead to the inn and the local healer, which is another problem taken care of. Gretel's not in the mood to be nice to idiots who don't understand that witch hunting is a messy job, and she refuses to explain _again_ that they're not going to clean up in a damn horse's trough. The mayor might be a decent man, or he might be trying to keep his people from getting shot. Gretel doesn't care. She'll take it. The sweet relief of a bath and a bed is so close she can taste it.

They are escorted through the back entrance of the inn which is mildly insulting, but she's too tired to care. The bath water is hot enough that she can see steam rising into the air, and she begins stripping out of her filthy clothing without another word. When she turns to check on her brother, she finds him leaning against the wall, mouth pinched and eyes shut tightly.

"Shit," Gretel says, and moves to help. She can feel every sharp inhale, every strangled scream as she strips her brother out of his clothes. She's not good at gentle, but she tries to keep from tearing open the wounds that have scabbed over and stuck to his shirt. She doesn't succeed much, but she tries.

"In you go," Gretel says, and Hansel grimaces at the tub but does as he's told. This time, his scream rips free from his throat. It's fine. Gretel had been expecting it, and claps her hand against his mouth to keep it from carrying downstairs. After a long moment, she lets go. Hansel is breathing deeply and slowly through the pain, so she doesn't expect another outburst. She would understand if he did, but she doesn't expect it.

Gretel climbs into the tub herself and starts scrubbing. Herself, her brother - she scrubs until their skin is pink and human instead of the color of dried witch's blood. She washes their hair enough to get any rotting leaves out and uses the last bucket full of clean water to rinse any lingering bits of muck from their skin. The water in the tub is murky and disgusting, but _they're_ clean enough that Hansel is eyeing the bed with lovesick eyes.

"Not until the healer shows up," Gretel says, but softens the words with a kiss.

The pinched lines around Hansel's eyes relax a bit. "Heartbreaker," he murmurs against her lips.

The knock on the door, though expected, is startling. Gretel throws one of Hansel's clean shirts over her head and opens the door.

The healer is young, which doesn't inspire much confidence within Gretel, but she'll still be better than what they could do on their own.

"Are you the witch hunt–?"

"Yes," Gretel says sharply. "My brother needs your assistance, healer."

"Adel," the woman corrects, and bobs her head. "What is the problem?"

Gretel says nothing, but opens the door wider for Adel to see. Her eyes widen at the mottled mess of bruising that paints her brother's skin, and her hands tremble slightly around the handle of her basket.

"Oh," she says faintly. "Well. I. I will do what I can."

"Then do it."

Gretel is aware she's not being polite. Adel has done nothing in particular to earn her ire except living in this fucking town, which is a damn sight better than the sheriff who should've either gone after the witch himself or contacted them sooner.

If she can't be polite, she'll just keep her mouth shut. After all, she _does_ want Adel's services.

The healer gets down to work with a confidence that is reassuring. She applies salves and gives Hansel a few tinctures to drink, and the bandages she winds around his open wounds are clean and smell herbal.

When she stands to leave, Gretel pushes herself away from the wall to bar the door after her. The bottle held under her nose is more of a surprise.

"For the swelling," Adel says, and gestures toward Gretel's arm, which still throbs with pain.

"Thank you," Gretel says, but the words are too sharp. Biting.

Adel doesn't seem to mind. She smiles and dips into a lower curtsey. "Thank _you_ , witch hunter."

It is with relief that Gretel slides the heavy beam of wood into place. If anyone else tries to get through, well, at least they'll have a warning.

"I smell like a damn meadow," Hansel grouses from the bed.

"You'd rather smell like witch blood?" Gretel asks, making her way across the room to join him.

Hansel scrunches up his nose. "Not really."

"Then stop bitching." Gretel leans over him to grab the vials of holy water and prime one for injection.

"What?" Hansel stares at the syringe with faint dismay. "Aw, Gretel," he says, and his voices takes on a faint whine. "I don't have enough holes in my skin already?"

"I don't want to wake up the middle of the night to you convulsing. Do you?"

"Some of the vials broke when she was throwing me around. Don't know how many are left."

Normally, that would be a valid argument for conserving what they have left. "None of the ones I was carrying broke," Gretel says mercilessly, and sticks the needle into a less damaged portion of his thigh.

Hansel hisses, but doesn't flinch. "I want a kiss," he says sulkily.

"I'll give you all the kisses you want," Gretel assures him, pulling the needle free and dropping it on the table to be cleaned later.

Hansel smiles up at her a little dopily; Adel must have given him some of the good herbs. "Knew you'd come for me," he says smugly, and lifts an arm to drag her back down to the bed.

Gretel fumbles but manages to catch herself on the bedframe instead of her brother. "You're fucking tippled," she says, chuckling lightly as she presses a kiss to his forehead.

"M'not drunk," Hansel says, but smiles at her touch. "Haven't had a drop."

"Yeah? Then explain to me why you're trying to squeeze my back like it's my ass."

Hansel blinks, twitches his fingers and tests the spring of her muscles beneath his palm again. "Ah."

"Yes, 'ah'," Gretel says mockingly, and then leans down to kiss him properly.

Hansel hums and kisses her back. It's a slow kiss, deep and searching, and heat rolls down her spine like thick molasses. Neither of them are in a condition to do much more, but this? Gretel could do this all night long. Kissing Hansel until words fail to spring from his lips. Breathing in the thick herbal scent that means her brother is alive and healing.

Still. "Enough. Bed," Gretel says, and if her breathing is uneven and jagged, well. There's no one but Hansel to hear it.

Hansel frowns up at her. "You don't want—?"

Gretel's smile is a little too sharp. "I _want_. But I don't have the energy to keep from hurting you." Unspoken are the words that in in this instance, she does not _want_ to hurt him. Not on top of everything else.

Hansel's frown eases, a small smile flickering at the corners of his mouth. "I don't mind, you know. I like it."

Gretel snorts, and leans down again to nuzzle against his neck, whispering, "Then you better heal fast." She pulls out of range before she starts considering alternative options. She knows her limits. It's abiding by them that's hard.

She pulls the cork free from the bottle Adel gave her, sniffing and deciding it is probably a topical salve. By the time she's finished applying it, Hansel is asleep, breath whistling through his open mouth. He'll probably progress to snoring at some point, but Gretel is used to it.

She curls up next to him, slinging a possessive arm over his stomach and pressing her face into the back of his neck. Between one breath and the next Gretel falls asleep.

◊◊◊

The sun wakes her. There are no birds calling a good morning, no singing or twittering, and it is fucking _eerie_. Probably a side-effect of how long the witch had been in business, and Gretel will be glad to see the back of this shitty town.

But now, bathed in early sunlight, Hansel breathing evenly beside her... Gretel can't think of any other place she'd rather be.


End file.
